The Killing Moon
by BadMoonRising
Summary: Hurting, killing, and emotionally damaging Dean and Sam Winchester, one short fic at a time. A collection of drabbles and other very short whump fics.
1. Winds talk to my sails, not me

Summary: This is a running collection of drabbles, babbles, and other extremely short one-shot fics.

Warning: We whump. It's what we do. Therefore, these are absolutely guaranteed to contain character death, torture, bucketloads of emotional anguish, and anything else we can come up with to hurt or otherwise torture our favorite Winchester brothers. Yes, we are evil like that.

We can also guarantee that there will be absolutely no wincest, Metallicar death, or evil clowns. There are some places even we won't go.

Ratings for individual stories will vary, but probably nothing will be below PG-13/T/whatever they're calling it these days.

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural. If we did, Dean would be competing with Daniel Jackson for greatest number of death scenes per series, Sam would get a haircut, and there'd be a lot more gunshot wounds and a lot less clothing.

Authors' Note: As you may or may not figure out, all the individual titles are references to, titles of, and lyrics from various songs that have similar themes to the stories they're titling. Some should be fairly obvious, others may be more obscure. If you can name all the songs, you get, um... an extra cookie!

...what? You didn't get any cookies? Oh, well sorry then.

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_**"Winds talk to my sails, not me..."  
**by Em_

The metal was cold in his hands, weighted unevenly, strangely heavy. As he stood from the hotel bed, his brow wrinkled. He couldn't remember sitting down, didn't remember picking up the gun. He moved to set it back down on the mattress, but his arms froze. Suddenly he felt an uncontrollable urge to rest the muzzle against his chin.

A part of him screamed. _No! What the hell are you doing?!_

But the rest of him wouldn't listen, nor could his rational mind gain control. Silently, calmly, his body obeyed the impulse. 

Dean sat back down and the demon smiled.


	2. Harder to find what's right

_**"...Harder to find what's right"**  
by Em _

As the cold metal tore through his flesh he froze, unable to react. Shocked and numb, his body collapsed, legs no longer able to support his weight.

Chest lying on the cold, rainy path, blood drained from his body, warming his wet skin as crimson soaked through his shirt onto the rocky ground beneath.

He wanted to stand up, to fight, but his weak body shook uncontrollably, trembling in the cold rain.

A figure crouched mockingly before him, just far enough away that he could see his face.

"Sam…" His voice was barely audible between labored breaths. "…fight…"

He watched as red flame flashed in his brother's eyes; vision blurred, he heard a pistol cock.

Eyes going dim, he stared one last time down the barrel of a gun.

"Goodbye, Dean."


	3. Only for a moment

_**Only for a moment**  
by Mer_

"Promise me one thing, Sammy." His voice was weak, raspy, attempts to hide his pain failing. Too much blood on the ground and not enough strength to move.

"What, Dean?" Sam stooped over where his brother lay and his face was etched with worry, terror, defeat, and a thousand other things Dean wanted to protect him from.

"If I don't make it—"

"Dean, don't—"

"If I don't make it, promise me you won't bring me back as a zombie." Dean twisted his lips into as much of a grin as he could manage. "Or I swear, I'll eat those tasty college boy brains of yours."

The fleeting smile passed involuntarily up to Sam's face, flickered in his reddened eyes. It was enough for Dean; enough to capture the image, take it with him into darkness as he finally released his grip on consciousness. He didn't hear Sam chiding his tasteless sense of humour, but he felt the cold ground falling away and strong arms beneath him.


	4. Witch Hunt

**Witch Hunt**  
_ by Em and Mer_

_"Cursed!"_

_"Evil!"_

_"Abomination!"_

_"Demon!"_

Unending screams pounded in his head; heat lapped at his feet.

He tried again to loosen the ropes holding his hands in place, but as each time before, they merely tore into his already bloodied skin.

_Why is this happening? This can't be happening..._

Sweat dripped down his face, the smoke beginning to cloud his vision and fill his lungs, the temperature unbearable.

He closed his eyes, in part to stop the searing heat, in part to brace himself for what was to come.

He knew they wanted him to scream, to beg for forgiveness or cry out his guilt, maybe even defiantly plead his innocence. Instead he clenched his teeth, allowing no more than a loud grunt of pain as the bottoms of his bare feet were slowly charred, black as the boards beneath them.

As the flame rose around him, the wood cracked loudly.

He could smell the burning of fabric, permeating even the smoke, as the bonds around his ankles began to singe, the blackened flesh they bound peeling away. He'd already lost all feeling in his feet, heat no longer registering as pain, but he could still feel the skin slowly tearing from his calves.

He knew that unless someone pulled him from the pyre, the flames would soon engulf him; there was no chance of escape.

The crowd screamed, not out of terror or anger, but in urging; they were cheering, spitting multitudes of vicious cruelties and accusations at him each one drowned out by another until the crowd was but a white noise: loud, aggressive.

_"Demon."_

_"Evil."_

_No!_

They'd come to help, just one more hunt: save someone's life, exorcise a demon, have a few beers, get out of town. Unsung heroes.

Story of their lives.

_"Man, this town gives me the creeps. You sure this is the place?"_

_"You say that about every town, Dean. And yeah, I'm sure."_

Another death vision, another town; it'd become a routine for them. But this time the people in his vision hadn't taken too well to his prescience. It was the work of the devil, they'd cried. Guess that wasn't far from the truth.

_"She's just one person, Dean. And she didn't believe me when I said she was in danger."_

_"Yeah, whatever."_

_"I had to get her out of there! She had to know the truth; it was the only way." _

_"You don't know that."_

_"Sometimes people just need to understand what's happening to them, Dean."_

Dean had tried to convince him to leave the life behind, to stay out of harm's way, but Sam had insisted on facing the danger head-on; he'd known what he had to do.

He needed to save people. It was all he had left.

But now even that had gone horribly wrong.

_"People don't understand, Sam! They can't understand."_

_Dean was right. _

"_Sam!"_

From out of the darkness he heard the desperate cry, one familiar voice above the melee.

"Sam!"

His eyes fluttered open, fighting the heat, and he looked through the flames.

A single figure fought helplessly against the mass of bodies, but the raging mob held him back. _Dean_.

He wanted to shout back but the hot air and smoke burned his lungs; his mouth wouldn't articulate and the words died on his lips, pain betrayed on his face. He looked to Dean and relief turned to guilt as he saw in his brother's eyes even greater fear than he felt himself.

_Evil..._

_Demon._

Again he fought not to scream, for Dean's sake and his own, and tears ran uncontrollably down his cheeks.

Through the flickering fire, heat and smoke burning his eyes, he watched his brother trying to reach him, relentlessly fighting the throngs of people as he made his way toward the pyre.

_"I think we should get out of here, Sammy."_

_Sam rolled a shirt into a ball and stuffed it into his bag carelessly. "Don't you ever get tired of running, Dean?"_

_He slung his bag over his shoulder, walking toward the door. "I'll get the car," he said, without looking back._

_"...yeah."_

The crowd gave way to Dean's rage, but for all his effort the terrible heat of the fire kept them hopelessly apart.

_"Dean?"_

_He walked slowly to the car, fear gripping him as he saw the figure in the driver's seat slumped over, unmoving. He froze, heart pounding, hand reaching for the gun in his bag._

As Sam struggled with each breath, his eyes locked with Dean's one more time; he didn't need to speak the thousand silent words passed between brothers, words of comfort and terror, of hope and regret and anger.

_"Dean!" _

_"Your brother can't save you now, Sam."_

_"No, what did you do to him?! What do you want with us?" The answer came as a sharp blow to the head and Sam crumpled to the ground as the world went dark around him._

Consciousness slipping, the pain of burning flesh and suffocating smoke tore at his will to stay awake, but still he refused to let go. Not until the very last could he close his eyes, pull them from Dean's terrified face.

_Demon... evil._

As flames erupted over his entire body, he could no longer hold back his painful cry.

_Not anymore._

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A quick A/N: The stuff in italics is a mixture of flashbacks and thoughts (though none of the latter are in "") and then just a few things that are meant to be ambiguous. So if you're confused, well, most likely you're meant to be ('cause Em's excessively evil like that). 

Also, we're quite curious what you guys think of this one, since it's much longer than our usual drabbles and it took us ages to finish it.


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